Transfer Orders
by Leraiv Snape
Summary: Halfway through the five-year-mission, Spock and Kirk come to a startling conclusion when Starfleet Command orders Spock to transfer off the Enterprise. Slash.


Disclaimer:_ Star Trek_ and her lovely affiliates belong to Paramount. I am making no money off this, simply enjoying myself and hopefully providing enjoyment to others.

Transfer Orders

The look on his communications officer's face as she looked up from decoding Starfleet's message told Kirk instantly that he wasn't going to like what she had to say.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" he asked, his voice already sharpened with anticipation of the news. Mid-Mission Review had taken place only two weeks ago, and while the Fleet Admiralty had expressed their general pleasure at the almost-flawless functioning of the Enterprise, everyone knew that in the next several months, orders for changes of personnel and equipment might come through at any time.

But such routine matters should not be the cause of this kind of dismay…

Uhura swallowed hard, reading her captain's displeasure. But it wasn't his tone or even his inevitable anger that brought heaviness to her stomach and dryness to her tongue. The words she had to speak were born on a tidal wave of pure shock, the senselessness of the orders running through her ear almost making it gibberish, in spite of the fact that it was clear Standard. Why him? Why now? What could prompt Starfleet to make such a colossal move, to actually damage the running of the _Enterprise_?

She was surprised by the smoothness in her voice when she said, "Urgent orders from Starfleet, sir. We are commanded to proceed to Starbase Eleven immediately."

The captain frowned, settling back into his seat, the dreadful blow that he had expected from the tautness of her slender frame going undelivered. But as the stunned look receded from those liquid brown eyes, an expression of loss replaced it, her legs so tense it seemed she might bolt from her chair.

"Anything else, Lieutenant?" he pressed gently, irritation vanished in the face of this inexplicable and out-of-character emotional display.

Uhura nodded briskly, forcing her unhappiness down. "Yes, sir." A beat, and then, "I think it should be discussed privately, sir."

All of James Kirk's internal red-alert sensors went off. _Discussed privately?_ The phrase always prompted a meeting with the command staff. Clearly, this was no routine summons to port.

"Call Scotty and Dr. McCoy and have them report to the briefing room. Mr. Sulu, please come with us. Mr. Chekov, you have the conn."

As he moved towards the turbolift, he felt the ever-familiar presence of his First Officer at his back, the slightly higher body temperature just close enough to kiss his shoulder, bathing a small patch of skin in comforting warmth. Kirk stifled a sigh. Whatever idiocy Starfleet wished to inflict on them this time, at least Spock was there to help him handle it. He hated bureaucrats. Some wealthy merchant the Fleet owed probably wanted to show off the _Enterprise _to his girlfriend. Or an intergalactically famous actor Kirk had never even heard of required transport. There were rumors of ships that had received such orders in their day. He suppressed a shudder at the thought.

"What d'you think it could be?" Kirk asked the question out loud as the lift hummed to life, but Hikaru Sulu knew instinctively that he was not expected to answer. As usual, whether venting frustration or asking serious questions, the captain turned to his half-Vulcan science officer to supply answers. Anyone else in the area happened to be collateral – unless that person was the CMO, who seemed to have a shuttle on the loom of the tightly-woven relationship.

Sulu had been asked many times whether he resented the duo's close-knit interaction that so readily excluded everyone else. It had been a peculiar question the first time, and repetition had not changed the wrong note it struck in his world. Kirk and Spock's relationship was neither right nor wrong, good nor bad, to be applauded or resented. It simply was. As irrefutable as the gravity that kept Earth in orbit. And given Spock's ever-informed, swift and rigorously disciplined mind, any captain's heavy reliance on his opinion was to be expected.

"I am unaware of any event that would require the _Enterprise's_ presence, Captain," answered the staid voice. "Although we have hardly been involved in a mission that could be called pressing over the past month, and there is a high probability that this is related to our Mid-Mission Review. It is entirely possible that an object or person of importance requires transport or guardians."

Kirk did allow himself to sigh, wondering if Spock had read his irritated thoughts – it wouldn't be the first time his friend had spoken the words running through Kirk's head – and the doors _whoooshed _open to admit them to the briefing room. Although such drab duties had resulted in one memorable occasion – meeting Spock's parents coupled with a murder attempted by an Orion spy – the routine bored him, and using a ship of the line like the _Enterprise _as a ferry incensed him. There were many ships that could perform that service – as myriad as the number of things the _Enterprise _could do that only a handful of other vessels could manage.

He was drumming his fingers on the cold table-top impatiently by the time Scotty, Uhura and Bones filed in, the doctor quickly taking the unoccupied seat on Kirk's left side and asking, "What's all this about, Jim?"

He turned to Uhura and forced a smile. "Enlighten us?" he invited.

Uhura took a deep breath, as if countering nervousness, drawing concerned looks from both Sulu and Scotty, her lack of composure pulling McCoy upright in his chair. Nyota Uhura was as calm under fire as anyone, and the doctor and unofficial psychiatrist of the _Enterprise _couldn't recall the last time a communiqué had rendered her as skittish as she was now.

"We are to go to Starbase Eleven, ready to receive us in three days. Mr. Spock is expected to have packed all of his things in preparation for transfer. He is being reassigned to the post of science officer on the _USS Logan_." Uhura had not looked to the alien as she said the last sentence, but instead kept her attention trained on their captain, as if mutely begging forgiveness for severing him in half.

Kirk absorbed the information quietly, grateful when shocked numbness overcame any other reaction he might have had. He couldn't think. He couldn't feel. He might as well have received orders commanding the transfer of his soul. His world without Spock...in spite of the fact that four years ago he hadn't even known the man existed, Kirk knew that he would doubt the worth of living in such a place. He had always been teased by others about his love for the _Enterprise_. But the ship he would gladly sacrifice himself for suddenly seemed as dead as the metal and wires that composed her when the unwelcome vision of her bridge without his friend flashed across his mind's eye.

The silence that settled over the room was appalling in its heaviness, the reaction of the rest of the crew masking Kirk's unexpectedly deep-running pain. The six of them knew that a large part of the _Enterprise's_ success and survival thus far in their dangerous, often volatile five-year-mission was due to the First Officer's efforts. He had been commended on more than one occasion as the best member of the Fleet, superior in his conduct as an officer and his dedication to his duty, the epitome of his father's race. Unflappable, ever-present, always logical and handy with any computer interface ever encountered. He stood like stone in a world of human grievances, errors, joys and fears, un-eroded by the waters of feeling that swirled and eddied around him. And, like rock, unmovable.

Until the day one glimpsed a touch of humor, fear, worry, affection or pain in the raised eyebrow, in the fathomless eyes, in the carefully maintained neutrality of his mouth. There were few that had not remarked bitterly on his seeming incapacity to feel – only to find themselves silenced when an unexpected flicker of emotion had betrayed just how deeply the half-Vulcan felt. Learning to read him, their respect had grown, along with their pride. He was part of their family; they had known him better than anyone else. The face of the ship would be unrecognizable without him.

And their captain...it was widely acknowledged that a closer command team could not be found anywhere in the Federation. They balanced and complimented each other – recklessness and caution, rationality and gut instinct married in an intricate dance, maintaining a perfect equilibrium. Had one of them been female, they would have long been branded soul mates. As it was...

_You might as well take out the nacelles and ask the engines to run_, Scotty thought ruefully.

"I didn't realize all those arguments you lost to me meant so much to you," McCoy finally tossed out the opening volley, deliberately trying to lighten the mood. "A transfer, Spock?"

"You know very well that I haven't requested one, Doctor," the Vulcan replied evenly.

"If you haven't asked for it, why is it happening?" Kirk asked, and he could hear the bitterness and betrayal in his own voice, both more forceful than he would have suspected.

"Captain-" Spock hesitated. He knew that he was reading hardening disappointment in his friend, but was unable to address him informally in this setting. He had to hope that Kirk could hear him without reverting to the name used only off-duty. "Captain, for any transfer request I might make, both you and Dr. McCoy must sign it and agree that I am fit for duty before it can be submitted to headquarters."

"He's right, Jim," McCoy confirmed.

Kirk sat on the semi-relieved sigh that almost escaped and inwardly flinched. His internal turmoil as a response to this was all out of proportion. Officers were constantly transferred – they probably should have suspected it would happen to someone eventually. But Spock was his best friend…more than a brother…He filed away his emotional upheaval in his mental inbox of 'thoughts to unravel later' and brought his focus back to the task at hand. He turned to Uhura.

"Any clarification on those orders, Lieutenant?" He groped for something that would shed the slightest bit of light on this situation. Neither Spock nor anyone aboard had lodged a request for his transfer – as usual, his friend was correct – Kirk would have seen it. And transfer orders for the command staff never came from without until the captain had been consulted. "Is it a temporary re-assignment, a special project, or something like that?"

Uhura shook her head. "They didn't say, sir. Only that we are to be there in three days."

"If I must clear my quarters, it seems likely that this is a permanent posting." Spock steepled his fingers in front of him, apparently lost in thought. "Did you receive any orders as to who will replace me?"

Both McCoy and Kirk flinched visibly at the seemingly casual question. Spock merely lifted his eyebrow. "The question is entirely logical. My quarters are set for Vulcan temperatures, humidity and lighting, all of which are uncomfortably different than the human norm." In spite of themselves, the captain and doctor swapped amused looks at this statement – on more than one occasion, an impromptu meeting had been moved from Spock's quarters for that very reason. "Unless my successor is to be a Vulcan, I will re-set them for a human being."

"Hold off on that a minute, Spock," Kirk interrupted quickly. "The Fleet does not have the right to shift key personnel from ship to ship without the approval of the command crew. I know my opinion on the matter – to be honest, I don't know if we'd have lasted this long without you and I'll be damned if I want the stress of adjusting to a new second-in-command mid-mission – am I right in assuming you all agree?"

The other three men nodded shortly, but Uhura gave an impassioned "Aye, sir!"

Kirk let his trademark half-smile grace his mouth. "Don't prepare your quarters to be human-friendly quite yet, Mr. Spock. The captain of the _Logan_ and Admiral Nogura are going to have a lot of explaining to do."

888

"Take a seat, Jim," Nogura ordered quietly, waving the man to sit in the padded chair in front of his desk. "Tea? Coffee? Juice? I heard a rumor that Leonard has you on a diet again."

Kirk wrinkled his nose. Sometimes, the admiral seemed to keep himself apprised of the strangest things.

But then again, he had neatly guessed exactly what Kirk's reaction would be and had even greeted them as they entered the Starbase. Expecting to have to communicate with his father's old friend via commlink to Earth, Kirk had been floored and off-balanced to see the familiar face as they disembarked.

He hated being off-balance. It also jangled his nerves that Nogura clearly thought this routine matter of a little paperwork and a couple shuffled officers was worth coming all the way out to the Starbase for. Perhaps the issue at hand was much larger than the captain of the _Enterprise_ had previously expected. Dimly, he had to admit to himself that this made the prospects of preventing the transfer look much worse.

"Water, if you please, and Admiral, forgive me, but I am going to cut straight to the point." He took a long swallow as the ice-cold glass was set on the desk and met the older man's eyes. "Why are you taking Spock from the _Enterprise_? He's the best officer I've ever served with. His skills as an A7 computer expert and astounding scientist are well-exercised aboard a ship that is constantly seeking new life. I know you've seen the reports – the amount of scientific research he has conducted aboard my ship is astonishing. And frankly, as the son of Vulcan's Ambassador to Earth, he's a terrific asset when investigating entirely unknown territory – which is our specific mission. No one on our ship wishes to see him go. In fact, we actively oppose-"

"I know. I got the report," Nogura interrupted quietly, cutting the captain off before he could really get into his roll. "Nevertheless, Jim, Commander Spock is going anyway."

"But _why_?" Kirk pressed, unaware that something like desperation tinged his tone.

Nogura heard it, sighed. If it were true...this was going to be so much harder if it were true...

He cleared his throat, looked the son of his old friend dead in the eye and prayed that Komack's 'findings' were a combination of coincidence and the ravings of a jealous and angry man. There was no love lost between the two men, that was to be sure. "Tell me about your Mr. Spock," he ordered gently.

Kirk stared at the aging Asian man, searching the features that appeared in some of his oldest memories. But his father's long-time friend was not here today in a casual capacity – a Starfleet admiral sat behind the desk in front of the young captain, politely awaiting a reply to the absurdly open-ended question.

"It would be helpful if you would narrow the parameters. What, precisely, would you like to know?" Kirk asked stiffly.

"'Narrow the parameters?' When did you start with the sciences, Jim? That was a little lacking in passion, for all your obvious impatience," Nogura shot back, and the feeling of misgiving deepened. "But as you wish. Tell me about your relationship with Mr. Spock."

He had chosen the word deliberately, hating himself as he did so. The Kirks, as a family, hated mind games. Coming from someone who had always been counted an ally, it was almost a betrayal. But they needed answers from a man who had not already backed himself, snarling, into a corner. And so Nogura had to fish.

Very, very carefully.

The younger man hadn't so much as batted an eye. He gave a short shrug, head tilted to the right side as he opened his mouth. Before the first syllable left his tongue, the admiral knew what he was going to hear. The same old song. Kirk served with the first Vulcan who had graduated as a member of Starfleet, and the only known half-Human, half-Vulcan in the galaxy. The number of times he had answered this and similar inquiries had given the response a formula, to be spit out almost without thought.

"Our relationship?" Kirk ran a hand through his curls automatically, a layer of adopted professionalism dropped over the business-like but genuine persona that had previously inhabited his chair. "He is a perfect colleague, by definition a team player in the arena of running a starship. Spock is, quite simply, Admiral, the best at what he does, regardless of what he is doing – and even so, I have never witnessed any behavior that I would paint as egotistical. As you can imagine, this makes him an invaluable member of my crew – no matter what Dr. McCoy says in jest. He's never panicked in a crises, even when at least one or more members of the crew under his command are in danger, and-" some part of the captain's brain interrupted the auto piloted speech, for he halted, frowned, and gazed at Nogura with his eyebrows drawn in confusion.

"-and you already know _all_ of this because it's in numerous official reports and HoloNet circulations. I've recommended Spock for half the commendations he's received from Starfleet." Uncertainty was retreating, and anger was seeping in swiftly to replace it. "So why don't we cut the crap and you tell me what you _really_ want to know, Admiral? You've known me for a long time – I hate guessing games. Talk to me straight. Has there been some complaint? Has something untoward occurred? Did Spock have some overwhelming need to be transferred that superseded Bones' and I's required signatures? Is he returning home? Is he ill? Is he-" his chest constricted painfully at the vicious thought, but he pushed the words out anyway, "Is he dying?"

Nogura sighed heavily. "No, nothing so serious. I'm sorry, Jim. I wish...here," he tossed Kirk a thick folder. The captain glanced at it and tugged it to sit in front of him, impressed in spite of himself. Paper files? Starfleet rarely bothered anymore – and hadn't for the past seventy-five years. "Take a look at this, and tell me what you see."

Kirk ground his teeth. "This isn't a psych class where we analyze my brain based on some asinine picture and what I think I see in the midst of squiggly lines or starbursts."

The older man almost laughed aloud. "No, Jim, it's nothing like that. I apologize. I know you hate evasion, but I assure you, it's better for you to take a look and then make up your mind." He leaned forward as Kirk did not move to open his folder. "I've known you all your life," he said seriously. "I have nothing but deep respect and love for your family. Even if I didn't already know you to be one of our best commanders, I'd never jerk you around – because of George. Trust me, Jim. Just take a look."

Kirk resisted for a moment, wanting to refuse, but the large, dark eyes with friendly crow's feet deepening the corners shone with honesty...and trepidation. He flipped the cover aside.

Photographs. HoloNet clippings. He studied the first page, eyes flicking to confirm the date. Three and a half years ago. These would be the first photographs of their five-year-mission. His first pictures with Spock.

The one on top was just after the _Enterprise's_ first mission, the disaster when he had killed Gary– right after meeting Spock. It was a formal picture, taken at Starbase Two, and both parties looked wary and intensely uncomfortable, their bodies so far apart as to nearly be insulting. He smiled to himself as he studied the glossy surface, unaware that his reaction was being closely observed by the increasingly unhappy man across the desk.

It was too easy to recall this period. The loss of Gary had struck him hard, and he had hated the remote half-Vulcan for a time as he struggled with both the death of his friend and the coldly precise voice that had told him to kill the helmsman. It hadn't helped that the removed alien and their stilted chess games had been a cold companion compared to the ease of his friendship with Mitchell...

_Ironic, now, that Spock was never truly a replacement for Gary in any way_, Kirk thought, moving to the next picture. _He has been...more. In every field of endeavor._

The next few pictures had all been taken over the following nine months. He had forgotten how long it had taken him to adjust to the man whom he now counted as the better half of himself. But these portrayed a relationship developing slowly, in fits and starts, awkward, painful and stiff.

And then...

_Our first racquetball game_. They had docked for three days for minor repairs and rest. With his copious amounts of extra time, Kirk had finally decided it was time to get over his discomfort with his First Officer's too-efficient, sterile manner, and had challenged him to loosen up with the physical exercise. Spock had been quite surprised, though he never would have admitted it, and had tried to demur. The captain had insisted, almost to the point of making it an order. The science officer had trounced him, of course, but this photographer had managed to capture a moment where both men were so intent on the soaring ball that their tension had vanished, their lean forms frozen in action as they focused on the simplicity of the game.

After that, the friendship had progressed much more smoothly, as the next several dozen clips showed. Kirk was surprised by the thickness of the file. Every single photograph had both he and his first officer in it, and as the Fleet Press Corps was not allowed to follow starships on their actual missions given the high level of danger involved, all of these had been taken while in safely regulated space. Many of them had to be from diplomatic assignments, or on those occasions when they had delivered their reports or cargoes in person on Starbases.

But when he reached the last third of the file, starting with pictures taken a year or less prior, he stopped, feeling a chill prick down his spine and spread along his arms, flooding him with goosebumps in its wake.

The glances had changed. The reality of the hard data under his hands threw it into relief like the sunrise flooding a world with light. His fingers hesitated, eyes drinking in a photo taken of both them wrapped in their dress uniforms, Spock's posture so straight – and so natural. There was nothing of rigidity left in his body, simply the easy grace his people were renowned for, relaxed and proudly upright all at once. They were surrounded by diplomats, by aides, by the press. But the quality of their eyes as they looked at each other made it blindingly obvious that no one existed for either of them outside of this brief, captured moment. Eager enjoyment soared from his hazel eyes to be reflected by the black, two beings utterly at home with one another, whether they stood on the bridge, in his quarters, or in the midst of a party.

Kirk swallowed as each picture turned revealed one more damning. Him teasing Spock, an arrested instant of the telltale touch that betrayed their unique relationship – an innocent hand on a shoulder, fingertips extended on a forearm, gestures that between Humans meant nothing, but in regards to a touch-telepath told of an unplumbed depth of trust.

Searing worry marred the next in a line of light-hearted spontaneity. Spock had been grievously injured prior to docking with Starbase Six several months ago. This would have been taken in the minutes before they transferred him off the _Enterprise _and into the base for treatment. Successfully maneuvered into dry dock, it had not occurred to the captain to be anywhere else at this time than standing next to Spock's bed, one hand wrapped tightly around the half-Vulcan's, face full of fear over the wan features.

The unnamed came roaring through his brain, shattering the safety of half-illumined understanding and bringing with it the certainty that the captain had never defined to himself. It had had to be kept in the dark, lest he lose something precious. He did not bother to look at the next photo. Love, fear and hope were stamped in clear relief on his features as he leaned over his friend in the picture under his fingers – his glance one of possession and devotion, Spock filling the whole of his world.

As he had done for years.

_For how long have I known? Have I felt this way? Have I denied myself and lied to him? The perfect friend, our doubled love for the _Enterprise_ superseding any superficial attachments to women, to others. So secure, knowing that he would not leave me, that he was tied, as was I, by the pulsing heart of our ship, by the compelling mission that sent us shooting across the stars._

"I see." It was all he said, and Nogura closed his eyes in genuine sorrow. Kirk's quiet tone told the Admiral that this was a truth that had remained hidden, even from himself.

"You understand." It was not a question, and Kirk's golden eyes lifted, meeting the Admiral's frankly as he inclined his head in acquiescence.

The elder man loosed a sigh and asked swiftly, "Your expression in these documents is all too easy to read. His is…difficult. Your closeness as a command team has been lauded – to your knowledge, is Mr. Spock aware of your feelings? Are they reciprocated?"

"To my knowledge? No," Kirk answered firmly, and saw the naked stab of relief flare in Nogura's face.

"Excellent. Komack, of course, is screaming for a court martial, but one can't try a man for his feelings. As long as your relationship has remained purely professional, this can remain a bit of paperwork instead of becoming an ordeal."

Nogura's eyes had not shifted from the hard, lighter gaze and he shook his head in sincere remorse. "For us, that is. I suspect for you, Jim…"

"I know my duty, Admiral." The voice was harsh by virtue of its impersonal flatness. "I will see it performed."

"Jim, if there were another way…"

"We both know there isn't and we also both know why." The tenterhooks restraining his temper were stretched, anger seething at the edges of his tone. "I have told you that I understand. I would ask you to let me inform my crew that we will be getting a new First Officer."

"Captain – I am trying to say that I am sorry. For the whole damn mess. For putting you through this – and the _Enterprise _as well."

A cold nod. "You have stripped us of one of the Fleet's finest officers. I expect to get a worthy replacement."

"Seven different candidates are currently en route," the Admiral replied, following Kirk's lead into the roles they had been given – commander and commanded. "Including a bright Vulcan lad who just graduated. Apparently Mr. Spock has been an inspiration-"

"Cancel him," Kirk snapped involuntarily, and then clamped his lips together, furious at his outburst, at what it told him about himself.

Nogura didn't miss a beat. "Consider it done. They'll be here in twenty-four hours. The day after tomorrow, you are welcome to interview all of them with any and all of your staff that you think necessary."

Kirk inclined his head, knocked back the last of his water as if he desperately wished it were something stronger, and stood. "Permission to be dismissed, Admiral."

"Granted, Captain Kirk." Nogura wondered whether he could offer a less formal end to the interview, but even as he considered the words, the doors slid shut with silent efficiency on Jim Kirk's heels. The aging officer let out a long breath, slumped in his chair as if having fought and lost a long battle, and then reached for the file, deliberately flipping to the last photo – one that Kirk had not seen.

He was grateful not to have shoved this under the younger man's nose, forcing Kirk to see what he had so steadily, and honestly, denied.

This picture was essentially brand-new – barely two weeks old now, taken at the MMR in the heart of Federation Space. Seven pairs of command crews – captains and their First Officers – had been assembled to greet the incoming admirals. The photo had been snapped right before the doors opened to admit the highest-ranking members of the Fleet, and twelve of the fourteen men and women in the room were standing poker-backed and proud, their eyes forward in the best military tradition handed down through the centuries.

The couple closest to the camera was Kirk and Spock. Alone of the pairs, they had not devoted their full attention to the doors. Kirk's head was angled back towards his second-in-command, his mouth clearly moving in some privately amused whisper, for the hazel eyes sparkled. But it was the severe half-Vulcan that had immediately claimed Nogura's interest.

He had not lied when he said that he couldn't read the logical aliens. Their faces were always arranged in the same polite, immaculately structured expression that revealed no more to an outsider than courteous attention.

Jim Kirk was no longer considered 'an outsider' to the Vulcan race. Nogura had heard the bold captain laughing over his colleagues' complaints that Vulcans were an impossible species to deal with because of their lack of emotion. That no Human could work closely with a race that could not feel.

_Can't feel?_ Nogura had seen a press clipping with Kirk's cheerful statement. _Gentlemen – Vulcans _can _feel. It's not their fault that Humans lack the subtlety to detect their expressions of it._

But even one who had dealt only occasionally with Vulcans in his capacity as an Admiral in Starfleet could see the raw emotion in the space-black eyes here. Spock's whole focus was downward, his gaze fastened on the shorter man, sparkling with humor, appreciation and affection. Their mouths were separated by inches that seemed stressed by the barest touching of their shoulders. It was a moment that, in a classic twentieth-century romance film, preceded a kiss.

Nogura had been one of the admiralty stepping through the door just after the shutter had clicked on this picture. He knew there had been no such audacity. But studying this photo, suspended in space before such a move could be made, he almost believed that it might have happened.

Whether Kirk knew it or not, Commander Spock was undeniably in love with him.

888

The stars outside the observation deck were oddly still. For a ship constantly moving through space, they looked artificially frozen, the bright dots a strange background where streaks of light usually slipped past.

A Human-sized shadow darkened one of the windows, blotting out space, and Spock hesitated as he entered the dark lounge, wondering if he should restrain the impulse of his aching heart and leave as he had come. Professional. Cool. Vulcan.

But he could not walk away from Jim without saying goodbye. Not the farewell that the press would be so eager to capture tomorrow, not the formal dismissal of First Officer and Captain. He wished to speak for the last time as a friend, to savor the illusion – if only for a moment – that there could still be something more.

"_Illogical…"_ He did not know whether the mental voice was his own, his father's, or the echo of his many teachers over the years, but it didn't matter. His much-denied Human half was now piloting, and he could not help but think that his mother, at least, would approve.

The shadow against the stars had turned, and Spock could hear the leashed pain in his captain's voice. "Spock."

"Jim."

He mounted the shallow stairs to stand at the Human's side. He suddenly heard again the voice of the long-dead Edith Keeler. _"You? At his side. As if you always have been and always will."_ It seemed that always had become finite. He mentally shook himself. Where was the logic he had spent so much time perfecting? The control that had made him more rigidly unemotional than many full-blooded Vulcans?

Jim had patiently worked at stripping it away. At this man's side, Spock was neither Human nor Vulcan, not the torn-in-half son of two planets, accepted by neither, an experiment for both – but merely Spock.

"Have you received your orders yet?" Kirk asked. Spock shook his head.

"Negative. The _Logan _arrives tomorrow, and I assume her captain will brief me then."

Silence. A full sense of quiet. Too many words to say, with no way to say them.

"I will miss you, Spock," came the whispered confession. The golden-hazel eyes that turned in his direction were over-bright, tears standing in them.

"Jim…" Almost without meaning to, Spock found his hot fingers rising, extended, and Kirk's cooler ones came up to meet them, their touch electric as they met in the initial phase of Vulcan bonding.

"You are the one encounter of my life that cannot be repeated," the science officer said, the solemn intensity of his words ringing in their minds. Their hands did not move – there was no attempt to deepen what they shared, nor to back away. "I never expect to meet your equal."

"You have no equal," came the impassioned response as Kirk's control broke. "I don't know what I will do without you."

"Parted from me, and never parted…" Spock heard the ritual words of betrothal issuing from his mouth.

"Never and always touching and touched," Kirk completed, and then shook his head, curls flashing in the Starbase's reflected light. "No." He dropped his hand, and Spock's clutched reflexively at the air, seeking the flesh and the mind that he knew so well.

"Not for us."

"You are correct, of course," Spock murmured, clasping his hands behind his back, feeling awkwardness permeate the air. What had prompted this moment of foolishness? Humanity. Illusion indeed. He could see, vividly, the disappointment lining his father's face. Where was the logic in joining with Jim Kirk? They were to be separated – very likely never to meet again in their lives.

And again, that strange pain, as if the heart between his ribs was being torn out…

"Would you?" Kirk asked suddenly, and Spock was startled to feel joy mingling with deep-seated pain rolling from the Human in front of him. Kirk recalled his own words to Admiral Nogura barely two days ago. _"To my knowledge? No."_ Had he been wrong? Had duty restrained Spock as it had tied him?

"'Were there but worlds and time enough…'" the half-Vulcan answered obliquely.

_It did. A dance we engaged in without ever acknowledging our partner…Spock…._"I thought we would have more," Kirk admitted.

"A lifetime," Spock agreed, and watched his friend's eyes widen at the profession. The Human swallowed, and their mutual grief filled and overflowed them, the tenuous link their minds had gained over years of service and melding flooded with emotions that did not express on the First Officer's features.

"Live long, and prosper, Jim," he said, and though his face held firm, Spock could hear the croak in his voice as he lifted his hand in the salute of his people.

A struggle with rebellious fingers, Kirk finally held up his hand in the 'v' formation. "Peace, Spock. Peace and long life."

888

The door chimed. "Come," Kirk said tersely. His CMO walked in and sat down without invitation.

"What did you think?" Kirk asked as McCoy stretched. Their new First Officer, Duncan Baits, had just completed his physical.

"He's healthy," McCoy said shortly. The silence following his professional evaluation spoke volumes.

"You miss him, too."

"Of course," the doctor answered gruffly. "Don't tell him that, though."

"When will I have the chance?" Kirk replied, and McCoy's sky-colored eyes came up sharply at the obvious pain there.

"Did you see the _Logan _leave?"

"No." A shuddering sigh. "I couldn't…couldn't watch him go."

"Jim," McCoy's face was utterly serious, "did you ever tell him how you feel?"

Kirk's hazel eyes caught his friend's in surprise. "It's my job to observe," the doctor smiled. "Remember – I've known you for years." Kirk said nothing. "Did you tell him?"

A short nod. "He knows. I think – in a strange way – we always knew."

"Then he's not lost to you forever," McCoy said simply.

"Cheering me up, Bones?"

"No – being honest. I've yet to see you let go of something you truly want. Maybe that's why that parade of beauties I've seen you with has been no more than a stream of passing hormones. You never wanted them for more than the brief moment you shared. Combine your stubbornness with Spock's determination when he's fascinated by something, and I wouldn't want to be Starfleet Command."

"Perhaps," the captain replied flatly.

"Jim – don't be too hard on Baits. Or on Deenera. They can't replace Spock…but then, no one ever could. Don't hold them to his standard."

Kirk gave him another curt nod. "I'll keep that in mind, Doctor."

It was a clear dismissal. McCoy rose and slowly exited, leaving Kirk to replay the departure of the _USS Logan_ on his computer, her small, sleek, silver form oblivious to his heartache, unknowing that she was its cause.

He gathered himself and stood. He would have to work with both his new First Officer and their transferred-in science officer. He did not have the luxury of mooning like a love-struck teenager.

Straightening his uniform, he resolved to bury the longing for Vulcan's best-known son, submerging himself in duty until the memories faded, taking the pain with them.

"Mr. Baits?" he called, rapping on the too-familiar door next to his own.

"Captain Kirk!" The man practically gleamed with military perfection as he ripped off a salute, emerging from his quarters at the captain's knock.

_So unlike him_, Kirk squashed the thought as it flickered through his brain. "At ease, Commander. I thought we might start with a detailed tour of the ship to get you acquainted with your new duties. Please, if you would come this way…"

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A/N: Please let me know what you think! There is a sequel in progress, by popular demand, and it is multi-chapter, which is why it's taking some sweet time in coming. I will start posting once it is finished.


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